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COPYRIGHT DEPOSnv 



TRAIL DUST 

A Little Round-up of Western Verse 



BY 

DANIEL S. RICHARDSON 



SAN FRANCISCO 

A. M. ROBERTSON 

1908 






LiBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two Copies Received 

die 28 1908 

CLASS ^ XXc no. 



COPYRIGHT 

A. M. ROBERTSON 

1908 



THE MURDOCK PRESS 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE PROMISE OF THE SIERRA 7 

QUESTION 9 

THE SEQUEL II 

CALIFORNIA TO THE FLEET I4 

GLACIER POINT 1 8 

"mARTHA" 21 

THE MOTHER OF THE FOREST 23 

PANCHITA 26 

KENT AND THE MUIR WOODS 32 

TWIN ROSES 34 

COMING HOME . 36 

death's MEANING 4O 

A MEMORY 42 

JOAQUIN 43 

in the cafe 47 

the cliff dwellers 48 

at anchor 52 

the redw^oods 54 

love's anniversary 56 

under the half dome 58 

PICO 60 

SHE KNOWS 64 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE COLORADO . . 66 

WHEREIN LIES WISDOM 70 

THE LAST BUFFALO . 72 

PARTING . 75 

DONNER LAKE 77 

FROM THE DEPTHS 79 

SUNSET AT THE GOLDEN GATE . . . . 81 

TO HER SCRAP-BOOK 82 

SONG 83 

SERENADE 84 

THE INLAND SEA 85 

YESTERDAY 87 

ANDREW FURUSETH 89 

YOSEMITE 91 



DEDICATION 

To her, in love, whose eager feet 
Mine own have followed on the trail. 
Up winding steep, down flower-strewn vale. 

Through many a woodland, dark and sweet. 
Where crooning waters hide and hail; 

To her, in love, whose heart elate 
Made one of sun or cloud or rain — 
In joy attuned to Nature^ s strain — 

To her these songs I dedicate. 



THE PROMISE OF THE SIERRA 

When I am dead and on my breast 
The friendly clods are lightly pressed, 
Then shall I sink from sight of men 
And be as one who has not been. 
E'en those who wept will cease to weep, 
And I shall sleep the long, sweet sleep. 
Forgotten and forgetting all — 
My lot the common lot — my pall 
The voiceless dark that all must know. 
Nor do I grieve that this is so. 
Yet, from the snow clad peaks above. 
Whose every wrinkled front I love, 
A v/hisper comes : bend low thine ear, 
My wondering heart, and thou shalt hear: 



THE PROMISE OF THE SIERRA 

Because he loved us, we zvill he 
The guardians of his memory. 
Because he loved the river's song, 
The laughing brooks that leap along 
Shall sing more softly as they pass 
His resting place beneath the grass. 
Because he loved us, flowers shall bloom 
More sweetly on his naineless tomb. 
And on his heart the sod shall lie 
More gently as the years go by. 
There is no death; love paid the debt; 
Tho' moons may wane and men forget. 
The mountain's heart beats on for aye; 
Who truly loved us can not die. 

And so I wait, nor fear the tide 
That comes so swiftly on to hide 
My little light. The mountains glow; 
I have their promise, and I know. 

8 



QUESTION 

'Twas here, sweet love, beside the stream 

Where tangled blossoms quiver. 
And dainty-fingered fern leaves gleam 

Above the restless river; 
Where redwood shadows fall to meet 

The golden sun tide flowing. 
And all the air is still and sweet 

With wild-wood odors blowing; 
'Twas here I heard thee whisper low 
Thy sweet confession — trembling so. 

And yet, sweet love, if we had met 

Upon some arid plain 
Where birds sing not nor waters fret 

Nor cooling shadows reign ; — 



. QUESTION 

If on some desert, lone and rude, 

I to thy feet had come. 
And Nature smiled not while I wooed 

And all the skies were dumb — 
Speak, little heart, my doubt dispel : 
Would'st thou have loved me there as well ? 



10 



THE SEQUEL 

My heart was light, though the skies were dumb. 
'*At last, sweet Dora," I said, "I come.'' 

She lived on the windy hill. 
The months had tarried since last we met; 
But she had written, "I love thee yet 

And watch for thy coming still." 

So toward the ocean my face I turned. 

The streets were silent; the gas-lights burned 

And flickered in dismal way; 
And e'er I knew it, I walked alone. 
The air was chill and a dreary moan 

Came up from the restless bay. 
"Now this," I said, as the fog came down, 
"Is San Francisco. No other town 
Has hills so slippery, mists so brown. 

Or girls like Dora May." 

II 



THE SEQUEL 

The house I found, and a glimmer shone 
Through the blinds to the moistened stone 

Of the pavement far below. 
" 'Tis from her window," I said; " 'tis clear 
My love is conscious that I am near. 

She dreams of me there I know. 

"She dreams, sweet child, of the June we spent- 

Of the glorious summer weather 
When, through snowy azalea blooms. 

We wandered and dreamed together. 
Once more I crown her with airy ferns. 

And blackberry leaves and clover; 
Again we follow the river turns 

And the broken moon hangs over. 
And here I stand at her window pane. 
Awake, sweet dreamer, we meet again.'' 



12 



THE SEQUEL 

I rang the bell and I said to him 
Of Tartar origin, standing grim 
Behind the portal : ''Be pleased to say 
To fair Miss Dora that I would pay 

My compliments overdue." 
He took my card, and his almond eye 
With cunning lit as he made reply: 

"Miss Dola no shabee you. 
Las' week he mally with Captain Hill, 
And now he libing in Marysville." 

End of folly and birth of pain. 
Back I crept to the night again 

And the restless sobbing bay. 
"And this," I said, as the fog came down, 
"Is San Francisco. No other town 
Has girls so slippery, mists so brown. 

Or hills like Nob and Clay!" 



13 



CALIFORNIA TO THE FLEET 

Behold, upon the yellow sands, 
I wait with laurels in my hands. 
The Golden Gate swings wide and there 
I stand with poppies in my hair. 
Come in, O ships ! These happy seas 
Caressed the golden argosies 
Of forty-nine. They felt the keel 
Of dark Ayala's pinnace steal 
Across the mellow gulf and pass 
Unchallenged, under Alcatraz. 

Come in, O ships! The purple crown 

Of Tamalpais is looking down. 

And from the Contra Costa shore 

Diablo leans across once more 

To listen for the signal gun, 

Proclaiming that a port is won. 

14 



CALIFORNIA TO THE FLEET 

O ships ! Thou art not of the sea ; 
It was the land that mothered thee — 
The broad, sweet land, the prairies wide. 
The mine, the forge, the mountain side ; 
And so the rivers, hastening 
Through valleys where the med'larks 

sing. 
Come freighted with Love's offering. 
Behold, they leap the granite wall 
Where far the dim Sierra call;- 
And lordly Shasta, from his throne, 
Looks down the canons, dark and lone, 
To smile his welcome to the tide : 
Come in, O ships ! The Gate stands wide. 

Think not we love, O squadrons gray, 
Grim war's magnificent array! 
'TIs not that gleaming turrets reel 
Above thy decks of belted steel, 

15 



CALIFORNIA TO THE FLEET 

And frowning guns look down, that we 
Extend glad arms and hearts to thee. 
Not War we love, but Peace, and these 
Are but the White Dove's argosies — 
The symbols of a mighty will 
No tyrant hand may use for ill; 
The pledges of a nation's power. 
For use alone in that dread hour 
When Justice fails, and Wrong shall dare 
Uplift its front in menace there. 

Come in, O ships ! The voyage is done. 
Magellan's stormy cape is won; 
And all the zones have seen thee trail 
Thy glorious banners down the gale. 
No stranger here to greet thee springs; 
It is thine own sweet land that sings 
Come in — come home; the Gate swings 
wide, 

i6 



CALIFORNIA TO THE FLEET 

Drift in upon the happy tide ; 
For lo, upon the yellow sands, 
I wait with garlands in my hands. 



17 



GLACIER POINT 

Azure glory overhead, 
Underneath a gulf so dread 
That the very eagles shrink 
Startled from the dizzy brink. 

From his eyrie, looking down. 
Ice-hewn gorge and glacial crown 
Sleep in primal majesty. 
Mist-enshrouded, he can see 

Granite vales and depths where run 
Rivers leaping from the sun ; 
Awful shapes in stone which rear 
Peaks the forked lightnings fear; 

i8 



GLACIER POINT 

Dizzy ledges where the pine 
Leans to hear the glacier whine ; 
Rocks on splintered rocks down-hurled 
At the birth throes of a v/orld. 

O for lips — for tongue to speak — 
Wings to swoop from peak to peak! 
O for soul to grasp His plan 
Who conceived El Capitan! — 

Who conceived yon path of light, 
Downward pouring from the height 
Where the Grizzly makes his leap, 
Half concealed, from steep to steep ! — 

Power to voice the av/ful thought 
In those granite pillars wrought. 
Where the Half Dome, in his pride, 
Thrusts the jealous stars aside! 



19 



GLACIER POINT 

Idle dream ! The far intent 
In this power and beauty blent, 
Prompts me only to confess 
Here my utter nothingness. 



20 



"MARTHA" 

Was It a dream, or did we sit 
In truth, one perfect day — 

Just thou and I — the world forgot — 
Within an alcove gray? 

The place was haunted, I recall, 
With music, and Its flow 

Came pulsing up from hidden aisles 
And spaces far below. 

You sat beside me, sad and still, — 
Sad In the dear sweet way 

Of one who feels his pulses thrill 
To music's tender sway. 



21 



MARTHA 

And I was silent; for my heart, 

Forgetful of the throng, 
In dreamful bliss was drifting down 

The wizard stream of song. 

Perhaps it was the viol's note, 

Perhaps the minor strain 
Of violins which sobbed and called 

Their passion and their pain. 

I could not know ; but when your eyes 
Met mine, their depths revealed 

Some sweet confession which your lips 
Had artfully concealed. 

Did we, in truth, sit there, dear heart, 
In those sweet halls of pain? 

Deny it not, for if I wake 
I fain would dream again. 



22 



THE MOTHER OF THE FOREST* 

A mighty specter, stripped and bare, 
She stands with pallid arms in air. 

Her great heart stilled — her life undone — 
She cries her protest to the sun. 

Man did his worst, whose vandal trace 
Profaned her thus ; but strength and grace 

And majesty outlived the deed. 
Above her ancient, towering breed 

She towers still, and lifts dead hands 
Above the black volcanic lands — 



* This tree, a perfect specimen of the Sequoia Gigantea, four 
hundred feet high, in the Calaveras grove, was stripped of its 
bark for one hundred and fifty feet from the ground, to provide 
specimens and pin-cushions for curiosity seekers. 



23 



THE MOTHER OF THE FOREST 

The sun-kissed lands which knew her birth 
Back in the twilight of the earth. 

Than this, man's long unworthiness 
No statelier ruin will confess. 

Than this, the record of his rage 
For gold, reveals no sadder page. 

Whose wanton lust this fane resigned 
To sacrilege, wronged all mankind. 

For men unborn, from age to age, 
In this great shrine have heritage ; 

And here, from age to age, will bring, 
With reverent feet, their offering. 

O Mammon! Turn thy shafts aside; 
With this, thy work, be satisfied. 



24 



THE MOTHER OF THE FOREST 

Bid greed forego while yet remain 
Some fingermarks on mount and plain 

Of God's first work; for lo, mine eyes 
Have seen thy trail in Paradise. 



25 



PANCHITA 

The city Is damp and the air is cold, 
I long for the sun and a breath of the sea — 
A horse, sv/ift-footed, and liberty; — 
The sweet free air and the switching flow 
Of wild oats over my saddle bow; — 
The long green slopes and the dark ravine, 
Buckeye-scented and water fed — 
Fern spray under and bough o'er head ; 
And the night bivouac 'mid the sea-gulls' din 
Down by the shore where the tide comes in. 
San Luis Obispo besides the sea ! 
Bare and brown 'neath the summer's sun. 
Glad and green when the storms are done — 
Green forever in memory. 

26 



PANCHITA 

Here Panchlta, my love, I knew. 
Not a flower that dared to be, — 
Mountain blossom or bud that grew, 
Wind-bewildered beside the sea. 
Half so timidly sweet as she. 
Nimble footed as mountain quail. 
Light and airy as winds that blow 
Summer's whisperings to and fro, — 
This Panchlta, this love of mine. 
Dark and wistful and warm as wine. 
Set the wilderness all aglow. 

She was timid, I said, and shy: 
Once, however, when all the sky 
Burned with summer, and on the plain 
Cattle perished because the sun 
Licked the water-ways, all undone, 
Fever-stricken, nor succor near, 



27 



PANCHITA 

She, my timid one, laughed at fear; 
Laughed at danger and death and stood 
O'er my pallet through days of pain, — 
Called the flickering life spark back 
Into vigor and hope again. 
Did I love her? God knows, and He 
Knows the riddle of destiny. 

Sternly scornful, her father said, 
"Child nor chattel of mine shall wed 
Northern vandal; the grave were better." 
So I left him and one dark night 
Led two mustangs beneath the wall 
Where Panchita, arrayed for flight. 
Heard and answered my signal call. 



28 



PANCHITA 

O that ride 'neath a broken moon! 
The spur of danger, the quick caress, 
The hope, the promise, and all too soon 
The utter shadow and bitterness ! 

We reached the river; the stream was up; 

The current was swift and black; 

But a hundred times my mustangs' feet 

Had threaded the ford and back ; 

So we urged them in, nor dreamed that death 

Lurked under the cataract. 

How it happened I can not tell ; 
I only know that her mustang fell, 
And when I struggled to reach her side. 
Her horse went down in the swirling tide. 
Wild with terror, I spurred my way 
Down the current and called her name — 



29 



PANCHITA 

Knew no danger In my dismay — 
Groped and stumbled and tried to pray — 
But no answer — the cruel tide 
Tossed my impotent arm aside — 
Whelmed me over and bore me back 
Where the willows stood grim and black 
In the shallows. The long night through, 
Dazed with anguish, I searched the shore, 
Groped and stumbled and dared anew 
Swirl and eddy and sullen roar. 
Then 'm.id tangle of sand and drift, 
Down where the treacherous currents shift, 
Morning found me, and lying there. 
Pale and beautiful by the sea. 
My Panchita was waiting me. 

The city is damp and the air is chill; 

I long for the sun and a breath of the sea ; 



30 



PANCHITA 

But a little mound where the sea-gulls scold, 
And the checkered cliffs rise dark and bold, 
Hides all my summer — hides love and sun — 
Down by the shore where the white tides run. 



31 



KENT AND THE MUIR WOODS 

It is not oft, I think, that one 

Who truly loves his kind 
May do the thing which he has done 

And giving, leave behind 
So sweet a thought — a legacy 

Perennial as the call 
Of limpid waters, babbling where 

His redwood shadows fall. 

But more than love he gave who stript 

His act of pride and name, 
Transferring to another's brow 

The laurel wreath of fame. 
A gracious act, methinks, to share 

With Nature's gentlest son 
The glory of this peerless gift 

From greed and havoc won. 

32 



KENT AND THE MUIR WOODS 

A man It was who acted here — 

Within whose generous breast 
The passion burns — the chivalry — 

The bigness of the West. 
And while his redwoods drip with mist 

And winds blow from the sea, 
The names of Kent and Muir will live 

In blessed memory. 



2Z 



TWIN ROSES 

My rose tree, by the rude winds blown, 
Snapped at its base and bowed its head; 

I found its glorious blossoms strewn 
And, in my grieving, thought it dead. 

But feebly to the parent stock 

It clung, held by a slender thread. 

I bound the wound and braced it strong 
Against the wall to give it heart. 

And lo, it bloomed the summer long, 
And gave no sign of inward smart; 

And then, its sweet task all complete. 
It drooped and faded at my feet. 



34 



TWIN ROSES 

So she, my loved one, died; her face 

Illumined still with life's sweet glow — 
Her brave eyes veiled, lest love should trace 

The awful wound concealed below. 
Twin flower, she breathed her life away, 

(My rose tree and my love v/ere one) 
With every bloom In sv/eet array 

And all her petals to the sun. 



35 



COMING HOME 

Tell me something, you who know, 

Have you ever felt the thrill — 
Homeward speeding through the snow— 

Truckee — westward, down the hill? 
Do you know that hammer stroke 

Somewhere underneath the vest, 
When the ties begin to smoke 

As she plunges to the west? 

Far aback the deserts lie — 

Splintered rock and canyon brink — 
Dreary wastes of alkali. 

Sage and sand and Humboldt Sink. 
All have vanished! — home draws near; 

We have crossed the great divide ; 
We are speeding with a cheer 

Down the home-stretch to the tide. 

36 



COMING HOME 

O, the wUdness of the way ! 

O, the call of bird and stream ! 
O, the lights and shades that play 

Where the winding rivers gleam! 
Throw her open ! Donner Lake 

Slumbers in the cup below ; 
All the pine-trees are awake 

Shouting to us as we go. 

Don't you see the fern-tips there 

Where the bank is lush and green ? 
Can't you see the poppies flare 

Through the manzanita screen ? 
Throw her open ! From the wall 

Nod the lilies as we pass, 
And a thousand wild things call 

From the shadows in the grass. 



37 



COMING HOME 

Whoop ! She shivers on the rail ; 

How the caiions laugh and roar 
When she hits the curving trail 

Tipping downward to the shore ! 
Far below the valley sleeps, 

Warm and tender; I can see 
Where the Sacramento creeps 

Willow-bordered to the sea. 

I know that sunny land ; 

I can hear the med'larks call; 

1 can see the oak trees stand 

Where the wheat grows rank and tall. 
Give her headway ! When a son 

Rushes to his mother's heart — 
All his toil and wandering done 

And her loving arms apart, 



38 



COMING HOME 

Nothing matters. Give her steam ! 

Sun and wind and skies conspire. 
Love to him is not a dream 

Who has touched the heart's desire. 
Love to him new meaning brings 

Who has felt his bosom thrill 
When across the line she swings, 

Truckee — westward, down the hill. 



39 



DEATH'S MEANING 

If she were dead, and I should stand 
Some night alone within the fields 
Where we were wont to stray, — 
And from the hills should come a breath 
Of tar-weed with the dew; — if she 
Were dead, and I should see the moon 
Come o'er the mountain top and hear 
The call of crickets in the grass ; — 
Ah me! if she were dead, methinks 
That I could throw myself along 
The sod and call to her, and she 
Would come, though dead, to comfort me. 

40 



DEATH'S MEANING 

But If some night, all desolate, 
I stood beneath the stars we loved, 
And from the south a wind should blow 
Against my cheek, and to my ear 
Should whisper Love is dead, — 
Then should I know the chilling breath, 
The darkness and the sting of death. 



41 



A MEMORY 

'Twas such a night as this, sweet love, 

The moon was in the west, 
And timid stars hung then, as now, 

Along Diablo's crest ; 
Just there you stood — love in your eyes — 

A rosebud at your breast. 

How soft the air ! How sweet the sound 

Of crickets, faint and shrill, 
Came with the breath of dew-soaked leaves 

And tar-weed from the hill! 
And where the river ran below, 

To-night he sings there still. 

42 



A MEMORY 

O cruel Night ! O faithless stars ! 

How can ye shine so fair ? 
How can the heedless river run 

To wanton music there, 
When she who taught the night to sing 

Comes not to heed or care ? 

Forget thy spell, O mystic hour; 

Laugh not, sweet winds that blow; 
And you, ye careless waters, sing 

More softly where ye flow; 
For she comes not, who sang that night 

And loved me, long ago. 



43 



JOAQUIN 

Alone upon the "Heights" he stands 

And looks across the happy lands. 

With brave old eyes he looks and sees 

The shimmer on his sun-down seas ; 

The gleam on plain and peak and snow 

Where far his dim Sierras glow. 

Those peaks he sung when Fremont stood 

Beside him In the solitude; 

Those plains he loved when Marshall drew 

Their golden secret from the hills, 
That land he loved when old was new, 

And all her ways and winding rills 
Were musical because one day 
His truant feet had passed that way. 

44 



JOAQUIN 

Gray poet of a day and shore 

The heedless world will know no more — 

'Tis meet that thou shouldst take thy rest 

Upon the mountain's sky-touched crest, 

And from thy crag serenely wait 

What call may come of time or fate. 

No fear I read in those calm eyes ; 

Who bravely lives as bravely dies. 

Dies, did I say ? Not that — not so — 

Who sets the hearts of men aglow 

With one true song knows naught of death. 

He lives eternal as the breath 

Of fadeless spring — of flower and sea 

That trembled to his minstrelsy. 

Good-night, old singer. I descry 
Thy tree-built cross against the sky ; 
And, standing in the vale below, 
Where roses bloom and peach trees blow, 



45 



JOAQUIN 

I watch the purple twilight creep 
O'er field and wood and shaggy steep. 
Good-night, old bard ; the shadows fall 
And stars across thy mountain wall 
Are looking over to the west. 
Good-night, old singer, take thy rest ! 



46 



IN THE CAFE 

Just there she sat, her dainty hand 
Upon the railing pressed; 

And I can see and almost smell 
The rosebud at her breast; — 

Can see the downcast troubled eyes 
Which sought the distant bay, 

Where Alcatraz and Tamalpais 
In dreamful splendor lay. 

O blessed vision — thoughts that burn ! 

The twilight shadows fall. 
And where she sat, a vacant chair 

Is tilted to the wall. 



47 



THE CLIFF DWELLERS 

Downward from the great plateau, 

Where the Painted Desert creeps, 
Breaks a caiion, deep and lone, 

Where a ruined city sleeps. 
Not such city as ye know 

Where the noonday splendor falls. 
But dark eyries, row on row. 

Swallow-nested in the walls. 

If it had a name, no man 

Ventures now to speak the word ; 
Where its history began 

None may say, for none have heard. 
Yet it was a dwelling place ; 

Here men lived and loved and died; 
This was home to some lost race ; 

Here was crib and fireside. 

48 



CLIFF DWELLERS 

In this caiion, once aflare 

With the joy of life and hope, 
Slinks the gaunt coyote where 

Hearth-stones crowned the rocky slope. 
Lizards flash from bank to bank, 

And the stealthy rattler crawls 
Where the chaparral grows rank 

Over stones and crumbling walls. 

Written in these stones I see 

Pass again in long review 
Life's pathetic tragedy — 

Man's old story, ever new; 
Records of a savage day 

When the right to live was gauged 
By his strength who stood at bay 

In the sleepless conflict waged. 



49 



CLIFF DWELLERS 

Oh, the pathos written here 

In these long deserted cells! 
Oh, the tale of toil and fear 

Which their mute persistence tells! 
What the story? Did the sun 

Dry their springs and parch their lips? 
Did relentless famine run 

Through their ranks in dire eclipse? 

Did the fierce Apache sweep 

From the heights — a human flood — 
Charging down the rocky steep 

In an ecstacy of blood? 
Did the pestilence at noon 

Stalk unstayed and taint the air? 
Did they, 'neath a dying moon. 

Curse their gods in their despair? 



50 



CLIFF DWELLERS 

Who shall answer? From the past 

Comes no voice. The great round sun 
Swings In silence, and the stars 

Keep their counsels where they run. 
Nothing but these crumbling stones 

In the desert, stark and gray, 
Tell of them who struggled here, 

Made their fight and passed away. 



51 



AT ANCHOR 

Night and silence! O such a night — 
With a broken moon on high — 

And lights atwinkle along the shore 
And stars in the far clear sky ! 

Night and silence ! And lying there 
Just under the mountain wall, 

The great ship strains at her anchor chains 
And the shadows cover all. 

O patient stars ! We have waited long 
The coming of this sweet day. 

How fares our love, in the shadows there, 
Where the ships at anchor lay? 

52 



AT ANCHOR 

How fares our love? Does she know we 
watch 

And wait on the other shore? 
Does she feel and answer and understand 

Love's passion forevermore? 

Go touch her eyes with the lotus wand — 

Go softly and kiss her hair; 
Steal into her dreaming soul and make 

Love's watcher an altar there. 

And morn will break over Tamalpais. 

Sleep, dearest, the day draws near; 
And love will wait by the Golden Gate 

Till the shadows disappear. 



53 



THE REDWOODS 

Like tufted arrows, straight and tall, 
Down-hurled by some titanic hand. 
Against the purple sky they stand 

And tremble on the mountain wall. 

From gulfs where limpid waters cry, 
From deep ravine and fern-lined cup. 
They lift their shafts of glory up 

To touch the glory of the sky. 

In fadeless verdure, host on host. 

They flank the meadows, cool and wide, 
They dip their fingers in the tide 

And run along the golden coast. 

54 



THE REDWOODS 

They run from cape to cape and free 
Their pungent breath on every gale; 
They lean where winding rivers trail 

Their scented currents to the sea. 

Hoarse, where they stand, the west wind 
springs 

Along their giant pipes and lo, 

Aeolian symphonies outflow 
And all the fragrant woodland sings. 

O temples, reared of mist and sun. 
To crown the glory of the hills, 
Perennial joy thy beauty thrills. 

And all thy aisles to music run. 

The night is here; and stars again 
Look through thy arches to the sea ; 
Where God so moves in majesty. 

What hand shall mar, what lip profane ? 

SS 



LOVE'S ANNIVERSARY 

Once more 'tis here, O day of days 1 
Again sweet Mother Earth 

Has swung her patient round since love 
On this glad day had birth. 

Again the crooning waters call, 

Again the cliffs arise; 
Again the splendor and the spell 

Of that sweet Paradise ! 

Again a happy face upturned 

Is cut against the blue, 
And love Is In the air and life 

And joy and hope — and you. 

56 



LOVE'S ANNIVERSARY 

My heart is full; my cup runs o'er; 

Love's harvest hath no tare, 
And June's sweet cycle brings no fear 

Of loss or pain or care. 

For all Is mine that men have known 

Of bliss beneath the sun; 
And all the stars are true, and all 

My ways to music run. 

And so, beneath the bended sky, 
Out here where winds caress, 

And birds and blooms and waters speak 
Of love's old tenderness 

I build an altar and I place 

Upon its lintel rude 
The simple tribute of a heart 

That aches with gratitude. 



57 



UNDER THE HALF DOME 

Low lying and all reverent, 

I fling me to the sod 
And read upon these av/ful cliffs 

The finger marks of God. 

The spirit of the world dwells here ; 

And sweet it comes to me 
That she I love hath kinship with 

Its brooding mystery. 

I feel her in the water's rush, 

I hear her in the sigh 
Of winds which move among the pines, 

I see her in the sky. 



58 



UNDER THE HALF DOME 

The stars her sisters are which wait 
Upon the mountain's brow 

To watch her coming as I wait 
And watch her coming now. 

O love, my own! Thou arc a part 
Of this sweet wilderness, 

And loving It because I must. 
How can I love thee less ? 



59 



PICO* 

Last of thy gallant race, farewell ! 
When darkness on his eyelids fell 
The chain was snapped — the tale was told 
That linked the new world to the old ; — 
The new world of our happy day 
To those brave times which fade away 
In memories of flocks and fells, 
Of lowing herds and mission bells. 
He linked us to the times which wrote 
Vallejo, Sutter, Stockton, Sloat, 



* Major Jose Ramon Pico, said to be the last of the name of 
a family prominently identified with the early history of Cali- 
fornia, died in Alameda, February ist, 1905, aged seventy-eight 
years. 

60 



PICO 

Upon their banners — times which knew 
The cowled Franciscan, and the gray 
Old hero priest of Monterey. 

In his proud eye one saw again 
The chivalry of ancient Spain; 
The grace of speech, the gallant air. 
The readiness to do and dare. 
And he was ready ; and his hand 
For love of this, his motherland, 
Was quick to strike and strong to lead; 
He served her in her hour of need 
And, loving, served her as he knew. 
What better proof, though unconfessed, 
Than these old scars upon his breast? 

Once these broad fields which slope away 
Asleep in verdure, zone on zone, 
With countless herds, were all his own. 



6i 



PICO 

Once from his white ancestral hall, 
A lavish welcome ran to all. 
To-day the land which gave him birth 
Allots him but a plot of earth — 
A tomb where winter roses creep 
On Santa Clara's crumbling wall; 
Fit place, perhaps, for one to sleep 
Who knew and loved her best of all. 

So ends in rest life's fitful day. 
He saw an era pass away. 
He touched the morning and the noon 
Of that sweet time which, all too soon. 
To twilight hastened when the call 
Of Fremont from her mountain wall 
Provoked the golden land to leap 
New-vestured from her age-long sleep. 



62 



PICO 

The train moves on. No hand may stay 
The onward march of destiny; 
But from her valleys, rich in grain, 
From mountain slope and poppied plain 
A sigh is heard — his deeds they tell, 
And, sighing, hail and call farewell. 



63 



SHE KNOWS. 

Why do the winds so gently play, 
Forgetful of their old rude way, 
About my paths this blissful day? 
She knows. 

Why do the dull gray fogbanks seem 
Like clouds of incense o'er a stream, 
Touched by the morning's rosy beam ? 
She knows. 

Why do the noises from the street. 
The tramp and tread of busy feet. 
Come to my ears like music sweet? 
She knows. 

64 



SHE KNOWS 

Why does the whole world seem so fair? 
What magic touch is in the air 
To sweeten toil and banish care? 
She knows. 

Ah yes ! She knows — my love, my pride- 
By love are all things glorified ; 
'T is night or day as she decide — 
My love, my own. 



6s 



THE COLORADO 

Lawless river! In thy run 
From the mesas of the sun 
Downward to the Yuman sea, 
Thou hast blazoned wide a trail 
Of innate depravity. 

Not content to flow along 
With a ripple and a song 
As a normal river should, — 
Spreading verdure through the land, 
Sowing blessings on each hand. 
Toiling for the common good — 
Thou art, rather, best content 
When on wanton mischief bent. 

66 



THE COLORADO 

Roaring through deep canons where 
Not the sun himself may dare 
Trace thy windings, thou dost bore 
Through the adamantine floor 
Of the cosmos, biting out 
Clefts so deep and gulfs so dread 
That the very birds o'erhead 
Hesitate before they leap 
Outward from the painted steep. 

Giving nothing, taking all. 
Thou dost drain the mountain wall 
On each side, until thy course, 
From Its delta to Its source, 
Marks a desert, fierce and bare, — 
Haunt of death and red despair; — 
Sepulcher of whited bones — 
Blasted things the Sun God owns; 
And thou laughest. Thou art glad, 

67 



THE COLORADO 

Seeing all about thee mad 
In the blister of the sun — 
Crying water — finding none. 

Demon river! In thy pride, 
Thrusting rocks and hills aside, 
Tearing up a continent. 
In thy ruthless discontent, 
Lo, thy hour has struck, for now 
Comes a mightier than thou! 

When, intent on wreck and ravage, 
Like a predatory savage. 
Thou didst leap thy banks and double 
Backward In thy search for trouble: 
When the Salton Sea was calling 
And thy gambollings appalling 
Menaced all the fertile plain, 
Then, across thy path of evil 



68 



THE COLORADO 

Stepped a pigmy with a shovel, 
And the roaring red Goliath 
Found his David once again. 

Great thou art, O lawless river! 
Vast thy power and brave thy plan ; 
But, however great thy greatness, 
Greater still is puny man. 



69 



WHEREIN LIES WISDOM 

'T was a little thing — but a flower — I asked, 
That lay on my dear one's breast; 

But she gave it not, and I caught no thrill 
From the little hand I pressed. 

'T was a little thing — but a smile — I sought, 
As we stood in the twilight sweet; 

But she gave it not, and her lips were dumb 
As the roses at our feet. 

'T was a little thing — ^but a kiss — I craved, 
As we watched the daylight die; 

But she gave it not, and her eyes were cold 
As the stars are in the sky. 

70 



WHEREIN LIES WISDOM 

O heart, I cried, when the night came down 

To cover my grief and me, 
Wherein lies wisdom when love wins scorn — 

Devotion inconstancy? 



71 



THE LAST BUFFALO 

(A captive in Golden Gate Park.) 

Lone survivor of thy race, 

Thou hast reached the stopping-place; 

This is where the sun goes down. 

Better so; for when a king 

Passes to his final rest, 

From the headlands he should sing, 

Fronting bravely to the west. 

Grim and silent, standing there 
In the sunlight, one may see 
Pathos in thy dignity: 
In thy sullen eyes may read 
Menace yet and threat to find 
Vengeance for thy slaughtered kind. 
Regal still, though all undone, 
I salute thee. Shaggy One. 

72 



THE LAST BUFFALO 

Yet, grim warrior, e'er thy day- 
Fades away in endless night, 
I would venture, If I may. 
That the slaughter lust was right. 
True, the prairies stretch away. 
Cold and silent with thy dead; 
True, alas! the verdant slopes 
Feel no more their myriad tread; 
All are gone; but have you thought, 
Grave avenger. In your plight. 
How much joy the slaughter brought- 
What a pean of delight 
Rose to heaven with every groan — 
Kindled quick by stab and sting — 
How the music of their moan 
Made the wilderness to sing? 



73 



THE LAST BUFFALO 

Man lives not by bread alone; 
He must see things bleed and die. 
Were it not a worthy fate 
Such a need to satisfy? 
Think it out, O surly king, 
Ere you pass into the night; 
Death means naught to man or beast 
If he keeps his logic right. 

Get you to the hay-rick there ; 
Make the most of lifers brief span; 
Paw the ground and kick the air, 
Or kill your keeper, if you can. 
Only this before you go: 
Soon or late or slow or fast, 
Let the world's last buffalo 
Be a monarch to the last! 



74 



PARTING 

Day follows day, and quickly nears 

The hour when we must part ; 
Draw closer, love, once more conceal 

Thy face against my heart. 
Once more about my bended neck 

The beauteous arms enfold; 
Come closer, love, for love Is short— 

The night Is growing old. 

Come closer, love; the night grows chill; 

Once more to mine upturn 
The glory of those soul-lit eyes 

On which love's kisses burn. 
Time flies, sweetheart, and love is short ; 

O nestle close to-night; 
The morrow comes full soon — the fear, 

The heartache and the blight. 

75 



PARTING 

Come closer, love; each listening star 

In heaven heard thy vow; 
The clouds, the winds, the whispering trees 

Bear love's sweet witness now. 
And morn will break on some fair isle, 

God knoweth where and when; 
But God Is good, and lo. His dove 

Will find its ark again ! 



76 



DONNER LAKE* 

So fair thou art — so still and deep — 
Half hidden in thy granite cup, 
From depths of crystal smiling up 

As smiles a woman in her sleep ! 

The pine trees whisper where they lean 
Above thy tide; and, mirrored there 
The purple peaks their bosoms bare, 

Reflected in thy silver sheen. 

So fair thou art ! And yet there dwells 
Within thy sylvan solitudes 
A memory which darkling broods 

And all thy witchery dispels. 



*The Donner party of immigrants, storm-bound here in the 
winter of 1846-7, lost thirty-five out of its eighty members by 
suffering and starvation. 

77 



DONNER LAKE 

For men died here ; and thou didst see 
Wan eyes upturned to heaven in prayer ; 
And thou didst smile while black despair 

Unrolled its awful tragedy. 

Come down, O Night ; thy mantle throw 
O'er haunted lake and spectral glen, 
For lo, their spirits walk again 

Who found their graves here long ago ! 



78 



FROM THE DEPTHS 

Thy love, I sometimes think, is like 

The faint, uncertain ray 
Of some pale star that shines afar 

Beyond the gates of day. 
Serene, unmoved, my eager eyes 

Seek out its depths in vain 
For some dear grace, some answering trace, 

Of passion or of pain. 
And I have called across the waste 

For warmth and light, but thou, 
Forevermore on that far shore. 

Art coldly mute as now. 

Oh, I have thought, in my despair, 

T'were better to be driven 
A meteor flashed — a planet dashed 

Across the bars of heaven — 

79 



FROM THE DEPTHS 

To burst In one wild rout of light 
Against dawn's purpling gate, 

And then to sink beneath the brink, 
Than thus to watch and wait. 

Shine out, O star ! The pathless void 

Is dark and deep and cold; 
Not Love himself may pass the gulf 

Unless thy promise hold. 
Shine forth In fervor like the sun — 

Love's fateful purpose fill; — 
Or love me or obliterate. 

And bid my heart be still. 



80 



SUNSET AT THE GOLDEN GATE 

The sun sinks low and his crimson locks 
Trail after him down the west; 

They weave the sky into trembling bars 
Just over the ocean's crest; 

They build the clouds into golden harps 
Where the day has gone to rest. 

I think, sweet spirit, a shadow hand 
Is touching the burning strings, 

For music out from the silence falls 
Like the pulse of happy wings. 

Perhaps 'twas the angel Israfel 
And the choir of heaven that sings. 



8i 



TO HER SCRAP-BOOK 

Thy soul from out this little book 

Shines forth as shines the ray 
Of some pure star that trembling hangs 

Against the gates of day. 
Amid the sheaves — thy garnered grains — 

Of wisdom, sweet and rare, 
I drop the tribute of a song 

And leave it humbly there. 
May He who notes the sparrow^s fall 

Make thee His ward and care. 



82 



SONG 

The day grows late and shadows creep 

Across yon rosy reach of sea; 
Night comes again, but ah! no more 

My loves comes back to me ! 

Night comes again — the same sweet stars — 
The same sweet spell on sea and shore ; 

But she who tuned the night to song 

Comes back no more, comes back no more ! 



83 



SERENADE 

Night Is with thee, beauteous one, 
Slumber's kiss is on thy brow; 

In thy dreaming canst thou know 
Who so fondly calls thee now? 

Sleep, sweet dreamer; would that I 
From thine eyes might kiss away 

AH their sorrow, as the night 
Kisses back the cares of day. 

Sleep, sweet dreamer; I will watch. 

Morn will come; but not to me 
Comes the rapture of the dawn 

Till thy waking eyes I see. 



84 



THE INLAND SEA 

Sea of beauty ! Never yet 
Subtle words to music set 
Told thy magic. Thou art part 
Of a vision, half revealed, 
Felt, but evermore concealed. 

I have seen thee when the day 
On thy isles in splendor lay; 
I have seen thee when the night 
Bended o'er thee, and the moon, 
In thy silver depths a-swoon, 
Lost her way, and stillness deep 
Dwelt on stream and templed steep. 

i ... 8s 



THE INLAND SEA 

Morning breaks; and lo, a star, 
Pale and pure as lilies are, 
Smiles upon thee. Fuji there 
Lifts his lordly brow in air, 
Hails thee from his battlement — 
Sees thy face and is content. 



86 



YESTERDAY 

One summer time my tent was pitched 

Within a forest glade 
Where shy birds whistled to the stream 

And tangled blossoms swayed. 
About it sweet azaleas clung, 

Complaining bees flew over, 
And sweet upon the air there hung 

A breath of pine and clover. 

At night the great black mountains threw 

Their shadows on the river, 
And, where the listening pines looked through, 

The stars were all a-quiver. 
I do not know — I was not sure 

The river was complaining; 
But all night long he called to me 

While stars and moon were waning. 

87 



YESTERDAY 

And all night long a minor strain — 

An under note of sadness — 
Ran through the music of the trees 

And stole away their gladness. 
It may be that the mountains knew: 

And something of their splendor 
The grieving stars, perchance, withdrew 

In recollection tender. 

It may be, also, that the stream. 

By reverie overtaken. 
Was calling back some old sweet dream 

Of love and faith forsaken ; 
Some dream, perchance, of her who stood 

Beside me In the never 
Of that lost yesterday, whose wraith 

Dwells in these groves forever. 



88 



ANDREW FURUSETH 

Not his, perhaps, the grace of mien 

Which culture yields and schools bestow; 
Not his the studied art to throw 

Delusive lights upon the screen. 

A plain, strong man — he makes his fight 
Along the ramparts, armed alone 
With sense of wrong — the people's moan- 

The pathos of their plea for right. 

Within his grave, sad eyes I read — 
More potent than the passing hour 
Of greed and arrogance and power — 

The measure of a brother's need. 

89 



ANDREW FURUSETH 

And right will win ; while yet are given 
Stout hearts, like his, to do and dare, 
No cause will faint or slave despair 

Who gropes through darkness up to heaven. 



90 



YOSEMITE 

In this deep cleft, so set apart — 

So close to Nature's throbbing heart — 

I stand in fear, 

For God Is near. 

With wondering eyes, from dizzy trails, 
I look on floods and granite vales, 

And In them see 

Divinity. 

From towering cliffs and Ice-hewn crown 
The arrow-feathered pines look down 

Where God alone 

Has set His throne. 



91 



YOSEMITE 

Be still my soul; the Presence greet. 
Unclasp the sandals from thy feet, 

For all around — 

'Tis holy ground. 



92 



DEC 28 ^-le^ 



